Wallowing
by Rant Girl
Summary: Dean's alone, but maybe he's not the only one. Very slight spoilers for Supernatural season 5. in part co-written with my dearest Nic.
1. Chapter 1

Dean exhaled, walking the length of the room once more, his tongue flicking out over his lips, hands in his pockets. Cocking his head to the side, tears well in his eyes as Sam's form enters his peripheral vision. He has to steel his jaw. Stopping dead in his tracks as a noise came from his brother's throat. _Stopping dead_. He laughed bitterly beneath his breath, licking his lips once more, pushing his hands back through his hair. He needed to get out of there. Clutching the keys in his pocket, he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly, leaning against the table. Ever since he got back…since he returned from hell, sleeping had most definitely been an issue, not that it had exactly been smooth sailing before, but he wasn't some whiny chick.

At that he snatched the keys from his pocket, heading straight for the door, only pausing briefly as Sam snorted, tilting his head to the side, his eyes tight shut, he opened the door without a backwards glance, the Impala his salvation, tapping the hood twice before getting in, "Come on baby, let's get out of here," tearing out of the motel car lot, already knowing he'd be back before dawn…

* * *

Cutting the engine, he tilted his head back, dragging his hand down his face, staring down at his boots, hands resting on his thighs, leaning back a little, before removing the keys from the ignition, letting his gaze drift to the neon sign tacked on to the front of this…establishment, as if on cue, the light flickers, humming, as if its mere existence wasn't worth it. But he'd seen what was on the other side, and from that point of view existence didn't seem too shabby. Or that was the theory. Pushing the door open, he bit his bottom lip as he allowed himself a quick scan of the bar, near to empty, "Huh," clearing his throat he walked on over to the bar, placing his hands down firmly against it.

"What'll it be.?"

"You got any whiskey?"

The barkeep reached under the counter, plonking down a bottle before him. Slapping his hand down on the bar, Dean left whatever cash he'd pulled from his pocket, swiping the bottle, "Keep the change," taking the glass with his other. He was about to take a swig when he saw her, tucked away in the corner, pretty little blonde, alone and with a look that could break the hardest of hearts. He stood up straighter, glancing down at the bottle in his hand, his tongue flicking out over his lips as he looked back up at her, she hadn't so much as flinched, much less taken register of his presence. She blinked, and if anything it only tore him a little more. He went to her, placing the bottle and the glass down on her table with the intent of breaking her from her reverie, her eyes slowly meeting his, anything he would normally say to such a beautiful girl far from his mind.

"Mind if I sit here? I just…" a hint of a laugh surfacing, a grin finding its way to his lips though it didn't quite reach his eyes, staring off into nothing he licked his lips, before catching her gaze once more, "This isn't exactly how I'd normally do this but…seeing you," he shook his head lightly, "I just can't allow someone as pretty as you to sit here, all alone..."

"Doesn't seem right."

* * *

She stopped to look at her hands. Something she seemed to be doing a lot more of lately. The tremor taking hold. Red coated, sticky with a tang of pennies. But there was nothing new about that. She knew the back of this box _scrub 'til raw, repeat if necessary_. And it was necessary. It never seemed to fade. There was always blood: the blood of those she'd slain, or simply beaten into oblivion. Her own warranting no further thought than her next move. Then there was the blood of those she loved. The ones she'd failed. The ones she couldn't save.

She turned the faucet, water spluttering to life, pounding down against the porcelain, once a gleaming white, tinted grey. Peeling off her shirt she dared to catch a glimpse in the mirror. Though she can't quite meet her eyes, afraid of what they might betray.

Stomach acid rose, burning its way through her throat, hitting the bowl with nothing but water and a breakfast, she couldn't quite remember eating, in accompaniment. Swiping the back of her hand across her lips, she grabbed a towel, blinking as it all washed away. Wishing it could be that simple.

* * *

She had never really been much of a drinker. Still wasn't. But there was something about these musty old bars that kept bringing her back. Not quite comfort, but an understanding of what hitting bottom meant. Although those that frequented these places , as much a fixture as the stale stench of beer and something she'd much rather stayed anonymous, seemed to find it necessary to swagger on over, and those favouring the hands on approach got a broken wrist and a face full of table to prove it.

But as she looked up at the man that now stood before her, a smile, decreasingly weary, crept onto her lips. Her eyes lingering on his before she stared down at her empty glass, biting her lower lip, a façade, her security blanket, slipping back into place, "You had me at hello…"

"…you know if you'd actually said hello, which you didn't, not that you have to, I mean who even uses that word anymore, it's a really, really dumb wor-…and ok Buffy shutting up now," her head hitting her hand. _Great_. The first welcome distraction she'd had in months and she already shifted gear into ramble mode. Slowly lowering her hand to meet his gaze once more.

Dean smiled warmly, genuinely for what felt like the first time in…well he didn't exactly keep track, "Jerry Maguire fan huh? I like it. Buffy?"

She nodded.

"Dean. May I?" he asked as he pulled out the chair.

"Go ahead. _Dean_," repeating his name softly, more to herself, and he liked the way it sounded.

Pouring himself some whiskey, proffering her a glass, "Hit me," Buffy smiled, a sadness still tinting her eyes, though she masked it from her voice.

"So what are you doing in a dump like this?" he asked, watching as she let her index finger trace the rim of her glass.

"Wallowing," her casual reply to which Dean arched his brow, "What like only men can come to the shallowest dive they can find to drown their sorrows?"

"Don't get me wrong here, I'm an equal opportunist wallow-_er_, just…" he smiled, shrugging a little.

"Oh you meant the why with the wallowing…that why?" she eyed him thoughtfully, she was definitely intrigued, this being the sort of question she expected most men to avoid, and the sort of question she wasn't so sure she felt like answering…Dean interrupting her train of thought.

"I'm sorry. I…"

"No. No. You don't have to apologise. I just…broken," barely nodding her head, meeting his gaze, she shook it all off with a smile, "You?"

"Hell."

"Been there. And they're not so much with the novelty t-shirts. Which maybe they should look into, I mean for the fashion conscious that'd be big with the torture."

_Cute and funny_. Dean couldn't help but grin, though it faded a little quicker than usual. His eyes finding their way to his glass as he swished its contents from side to side, letting it drop back down, he placed his hand down flat against the less than smooth table. Curling his fingers into a fist. What was wrong with him? Besides the obvious.

At Dean's retreat into himself Buffy could have sworn that she felt her heart break all over again, though she knew it couldn't be possible, there was nothing left to break. But that she could feel it? Given its current condition? That was something. And after all hadn't he just saved her from her own reverie?

She reached across the table with trepidation, snatching her hand back a couple of times, unnoticed, before extending her hand fully, her fingers brushing gently against the back of his hand before hers rested upon it. The sensation of it catching Dean off guard. Dean's shoulders tensed, his breath sharp on the intake, his eyes finding their way back to hers, the smallest of smiles struggling to remain on her face, the corners of her lips trembling slightly. And it was then he realised that his were too, his tongue flicking out over them. Some how she knew. How was that even possible?

Giving his hand a squeeze, her voice softer than her touch, "Maybe we should get out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Maybe we should get out of here."_

"Yeah?" Dean asked, with a vaguely bewildered look flickering across his ruggedly handsome features. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

"You know, get some air. I hear it's in this season."

"Right," _Of course not_ shaking his head ever so slightly in mild amusement, as he pushed his hand back through his hair, "Yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, before getting to his feet. The hollowness he felt inside seeming to plunge deeper as his hand slid from beneath hers. "Sounds good."

* * *

As soon as the cool night air hits them Buffy closes her eyes and Dean wonders what she sees when she does. She takes a deep breath. There was always a quiet comfort to the darkness, bowing her head, her boots the first thing to come into view as she opened her eyes, feeling his on her she smiled a little.

Looking up at him their eyes met.

Together they started, "So…" both shaking their heads with the ghost of a laugh.

"Guess air's kind of over rated," Dean said with a quiet sadness, almost as if it to had let him down.

Buffy nodding her head once in agreement, and then with a shrug, "Well except for the whole the whole oxygen thing."

"Right. 'Cause otherwise…"

"Yeah," Buffy shaking her head once again. Did she have to dead end every attempt at conversation? She shivered. Hugging her arms to herself she shuffled her feet. Dean immediately removed his jacket and placed it round her shoulders, the leather enveloping her petite frame. Buffy slipped her arms into the sleeves, shivering all over again as she felt his hand sliding against the back of her neck, moving it back slightly to free her hair from the collar, bringing his hand back round to her face, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing ever so lightly over her bottom lip.

Buffy's eyes drifted shut, her breath hitching as she inclined her head closer to his, their foreheads meeting as Dean did the same, his hand dropping, their lips but a hair's breadth apart and she exhaled, "Dean ..."

So many emotions embedded in that one word, longing rather prominent, but it was sorrow that had Dean stop. Even though it took almost everything he had left not to kiss her. And God he wanted to. But he felt it too. Buffy's bottom lip quivered, a low whimper leaving her as they parted, barely audible, but Dean heard it. He pulled back, catching her gaze as her eyes fluttered open, even under the current lighting, or lack thereof, he could see the flush of pink reach her cheeks.

"Why don't I take you home?"

"Ok," she whispered.

* * *

Dean closed the door gently behind him, easing it back into its frame not wanting to wake his brother, though he needn't have worried. He already was. Dean threw his jacket over the table and then sunk down onto his bed, not even bothering to kick off his boots.

Sam lay still, and it was a testament to his strength that he did, keeping his eyes closed. It had only been a few days since they had left Bobby's, and though he'd gotten past the worst of the withdrawal (Dean wouldn't have let him out otherwise, his big brother wasn't taking any chances) there was still a slight tremor, which he fought every step of the way. Sleep was still tricky. And it was only now that he was starting to see that it was for Dean too.

He had been so blinkered. So selfish. He used to be able to see through Dean's bravado, see the uncovered truths in his eyes, buried deep in his soul. He had known when his brother hurt; Sam had put that look there more than once. More than he could bear to count. How had he bought the lies? A part of him wanted to scream at Dean, demand to know where he'd been, the other half knowing it wouldn't make things better.

_**

* * *

**_

_**One month later**_

Twirling her stake as she walked, she bobbed her head from side to side, "If you go down to the woods today, you're sure for a big surprise, if you go down the woods today, you'd better go in disguise…" but when she started to hum the tune she came to a complete stop. Did that really just happen?

"Great. I really am going insane."

With a sigh and a shrug she continued onwards through the graveyard. Though why she even bothered was beyond her, the undead of Los Angeles preferred the nightlife, and the seedier parts of town, and in such a big city meals were rarely found in cemeteries. And of course there was the whole people not being found in time to bury them before they arose. Almost made you miss small town life. Only she really didn't. At least not for the slayage.

Walking through the gate she turned down the street, kicking a crushed can idly along her path, hugging her arms to herself as a breeze came her way. Stupid informant guy. She wouldn't even be out here if it wasn't for him. Thanks to yet another dud prophecy she was freezing her ass off…though she guessed it did look kind of hot in her tight new jeans. Just then a scream pierced the air, followed by some chuckling, and Buffy could have swore that the next time she had to roll her eyes like that they'd pop right out of her head…which ew. That was gross. She scrunched her nose, shrugging before taking off.

Standing at the opening of the alleyway, "Well today's the day the vampires had their picnic," her arms folded across her chest, four vampires clearly dumbfounded by her intrusion, looking her way, "Too bad you forgot to check the weather forecast, cause I'm about to rain on your parade…" pulling out her stake, the ring leader growling, Buffy moving her hands to her hips.

"Parade, picnic," she tilted her head to the side in thought, "not my best, but I can still pull it off," she shrugged, as one of the vampires charged her, getting him with a front snap kick, before crossing her arms once more, "Come on guys, I've not had a good slay in months, you could at least make it worthwhile."

* * *

Dean slid his hand underneath the front cover of the book that he hadn't really been reading, flipping it shut with a snap, "This blows."

"Dean, it's been like one hour."

"Exactly!" punctuating his point by slapping his hand down upon the book, "And as," Dean took pause to add emphasis to his next word, "_riveting_, as it is to watch you pretend that you're not watching porn. I'm going friggin' nuts over here."

"Dude, way out of line…"

"Please, not even you could be that excited by research."

After a beat he added, "Dear god I hope not."

Sam rolling his eyes, he wasn't even going to dignify that with a glare, leaving Dean to veer the conversation back to his main objective, "C'mon let's just get out of here. You know. Live a little."

"I am not paying for sex," this time it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. Sure he had been hinting, and not so subtly, about a few places he wanted to possibly check out, but he'd only mentioned one brothel…maybe two.

"Dean once gave me money for copulation," Castiel's voice, ever-serious, scaring the crap out of both brothers, Dean swearing under his breath.

"Wait, what!?" confusion flooding Sam's features, looking from his brother to the angel and back again, as Castiel's words sank in.

* * *

Dean downed his fourth shot, he had gotten his way eventually (sort of), after much deliberation, and well Cas taking one of his little impromptu exits had sort of sealed Sam's fate in stone. They were in a bar, Sam of course left alone at a table as Dean had chased the first skirt that caught his eye. A brunette. A grin forming on Dean's face as the girl whispered in his ear, he knew how to play this game. Admittedly it had been a while, but he still remembered the moves.

The two disappearing outside, the girl pulling him behind the building. His interest already waning as she went for his belt buckle, when the distinct and faint sound of a woman screaming caught his attention.

"Sorry sweetheart, but I gotta go," not offering her any more than that before taking off in the direction of the scream. Luckily for him it was only a couple of streets away, already his three course meal with an added pie to top it all off was already growling at him as he made his way closer and closer until the sounds of fighting noises caught his attention.

Skidding onto the street, he watched as one woman ran away and another, Buffy, was in deep battle with a bunch what appeared to be common run of the mill vampires. His eyes widening a little, but as shock subsided it was replaced by admiration. _She has moves_.

Buffy hadn't even noted when the girl had run off, leaning back to dodge a fist, swaying her hips round she elbowed one of them in the face, plunging her stake into another. A third charging right into her, his shoulder connecting with her gut. He slammed her up against the wall, holding her there by her wrists.

Dean springing into action he ran forward, stopping, he didn't have the knife on him, hell he didn't even have a gun, he scanned the surroundings, picking up the first thing he found, a brick, and hurled it at the vampire's head. Distracting the vampire long enough for Dean to get an elbow to the nose, which sent him sprawling to the ground with a deep grunt of pain. Buffy shoved the vampire with every single ounce of strength she possessed, managing to grab her stake before he tugged upon her wrist, her stake finding the vamp's heart seconds before he landed on top of Dean. Buffy landing there instead, her hands on his chest, one knee on either side of him, a smile finding its way to her lips as she finally got a good look at him, recognising him instantly.

"Hi," she said coyly, still pinning him to the ground, snatching her hands away once she realised, holding them behind her back, still straddling him.

"Hi yourself," he smirked.


End file.
